Page 93 of Check & Chase
Jackson appears beside me, his face a canvas of horror and guilt. “Is he…”
“Unconscious. Possible concussion, head laceration.” The medical terminology flows automatically, a shield against the raw terror threatening to overwhelm me.
The team works with practiced efficiency, securing Chase to a backboard with gentle but urgent movements. I move with them like a shadow, refusing to leave his side even as my panic attack lurks at the edges of my consciousness, waiting to drag me under.
As they lift the backboard, his eyelids flutter—just the smallest movement, but it might as well be a miracle. A groan escapes him, low and pained but beautifully, impossibly alive.
“Chase?” I lean closer, hope flaring in my chest like a struck match. “Can you hear me?”
His eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, pupils dilated and confused. Then they find mine, and something soft passes across his battered features despite the pain etched there.
“Emma,” he murmurs, his voice rough as sandpaper. “Did I get him?”
A sob catches in my throat, relief and terror and love all tangled together. “Yes, you idiot. You got him.”
“Good.” His eyes drift closed again, but his fingers find mine and squeeze with surprising strength. “Worth it.”
They carry him off the ice, the crowd’s applause a distant thunder in my ears. I follow, my legs shaking as I step back onto solid ground. The panic attack I’ve been suppressing threatens to overwhelm me now that the immediate crisis has passed.
“Breathe, Emma.” Jackson appears beside me, his strong arm supporting my weight as my knees threaten to buckle. “Just breathe.”
I try, but my lungs refuse to cooperate, vision tunneling as familiar terror grips me with ice-cold fingers.
“He jumped over the boards,” I manage between gasps. “For you. To protect you.”
Jackson’s face twists with complicated emotions—gratitude, guilt, disbelief all warring for dominance. “I know. I saw.” He guides me toward the medical area, his presence steady and reassuring. “What the hell was he thinking?”
“He wasn’t thinking. He just reacted.” The words come out in fragments as I struggle for air. “Saw Tyler lining up the hit and…”
“Sacrificed himself for his biggest rival.” Jackson finishes, disbelief coloring his tone.
No, I think but don’t say. For his rival’s sister. Forme.
Chase didn’t jump onto that ice for Jackson. He did it for me, because he knew what seeing my brother hurt would do to me. Because protecting someone I love became more important than his own safety, his own career, his own future.
Maya and my mother find us in the sterile hallway outside the medical room, their faces mirrors of concern and confusion.
“Is he okay?” my mother asks, pulling me into a hug. “Are you okay?”
The questions feel impossible when I feel like I’m falling apart from the inside out.
“He’s conscious. They’re taking him to the hospital for scans.” I focus on facts, on medical terminology, on anything that keeps the overwhelming emotion at bay.
“You should go with him,” Jackson says quietly. “What he did…” He runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair, leaving it standing in spikes. “Just go make sure he’s alright.”
For Jackson to put aside years of rivalry, to recognize the magnitude of Chase’s sacrifice…
I approach the medical staff preparing to transport Chase, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I’m going with him,” I announce.
The lead paramedic glances at me with professional assessment. “You’re Ms. Anderson, right? The PT?”
“Yes.” I step closer to the stretcher where Chase lies, looking smaller somehow despite his size. “And I’m also his…”
I pause, the word “girlfriend” sticking in my throat like a confession I’m not ready to make public.
“I’m going with him,” I repeat instead, taking Chase’s hand.
As they wheel him toward the ambulance, I lean down close to his ear, whispering words I’ve been too afraid to admit even to myself.
